


been looking for a savior (one to retaliate)

by blastellanos



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, Non-Famous Family Members, Witches, magical au, no joke, this is if frank miller wrote baseball rpf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/pseuds/blastellanos
Summary: It’s fine he knows José’s secret, because he’s never going to tell José’s secret.Except for whentheycome.





	been looking for a savior (one to retaliate)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [badritual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/pseuds/badritual) in the [boysofsummer18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer18) collection. 



> This is just a first part of a story that got so out of hand there's no way it would be completed by the 31 AUG deadline. 
> 
> For [thesaddestboner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner)
> 
> Title is from "Saviour" by Dredg.

It starts with a brief glimpse. Something maybe he shouldn’t have seen, but perhaps James had known all along. There’s something sharp about the sense around him. Something _different_. Enough where it reminded James of someone he’d knocked around in the minors with. 

But it was different in the minors. James was sure of it. Sure, it was _serious_ but not as serious as the majors. James hadn’t seen any evidence of it, but Hernan had been different too. Enough so that James _knows_ of it. 

It starts with the tattoo. 

There, when José's undershirt rode up, James had seen it. Like something from an occult book, a circular sigil, decorated with runes that call to some primitive and ancient part of James. He feels what they say without knowing the meaning,, like some biological memory seeping to the foreground. 

(He knows what it’s from; he’s read his family history. The McCann’s had been Puritans-- witch hunters-- back in the 1600s. There’s the legacy rooted in Salem. He feels the yearning inside of him stronger when they play in Boston.) 

So he _knows_. 

Then he pretends not to know, but he notices. 

It’s not as unsubtle as other people that he’s met. Other people in the minors who flaunt it, whose magic auras leave a spark of energy behind, luminescent but hard to see against the bright sun shining on the ballpark in the middle of summer. 

But if he squints, standing up behind the plate after a ball’s been knocked forward, he sees the gap between second and short, and he watches as something more potent than skill propels José across a swath of field to make an impressive looking catch in a place he has no place being. 

It’s not quickness, it’s not normal speed. 

James _knows_. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

He knows in the minors it’s not monitored as much, it’s not as taboo, but in the majors it can be a career killer. Worse than PEDs.

(James is torn. He’s worked hard to be as good a player as he is, but he knows some of it is natural talent. A person with _magic_ is born with it innately. It can’t be learned, whatever books try and say. He thinks it’s unfair, but at the same time some people were magic. 

Then again, he wonders what causes someone to choose _baseball_ when all sorts of strange occult careers could be their calling too.) 

It’s fine he knows José’s secret, because he’s never going to tell José’s secret. 

Except for when _they_ come. 

Even scarier than the league management, or the commissioner, or the fans who argue the purity of the game. All of that could fade into the background. Be nothing more than the kind of noise one quiets when they’re focusing. But _they’re_ different. 

James knows they’re from the same cloth. 

The Judicators. 

James knows of them. He has a distant cousin who kept on the witch-hunting path that works with them back East. But when they come sniffing around it’s never good. 

The head Judicator is a thickly muscled man, with wavy dark hair and pale skin. His mouth seems pulled in a permanent sneer, like something is under his nose that smells awful. It’s easy to tell them by the strange way their eyes glow blue, whatever gives them their ability to sniff out and resist the prowess of a witch. James feels cold just knowing they’re nearby. 

In the clubhouse.

Searching. 

Gardenhire doesn’t take kindly to the intrusion. Obviously there’s little need for more distraction to a team that’s already struggling. James doesn’t blame him. The MLBPA is still fighting that fight though, to ban the Judicators from the clubhouses. 

(At the end of last year, there’d been a huge blow-up about it, when the Judicators had taken the field during an NFL playoff game. As a stunned crowd watched in horror as they singled out the witch on the team. James doesn’t remember who it was, but he’s not sure that the kid had recovered. James remembers reading in history books how brutal the reapings could be.) 

The memories of hollowed out shells of people, and death, makes James want to close ranks even more. Makes him want to throw himself in front of José. But the truth of the matter is, he doesn’t know what will be done to him. 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to be in here.” James does stand up, for the moment. Feeling emboldened by the fact that Nick is up there with him, standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking the locker room off. 

“I don’t recall the laws changing.” The Judicator says. His voice is as sneering as his face. Nick frowns and James sees him from the corner of his eyes. 

“Regardless, ain’t no one allowed in this close to game time. Maybe if ya gotta press pass you can come in after.” James decides, this time, he’ll stand with Nick. The Judicator’s eyes narrow dangerously, the blue glimmering. 

“I can force my way in.” He says dully. 

“You ain’t gonna wanna do that.” James says, matching his tone. 

Realistically, James is as big as the Judicator is. Maybe a little thicker. Maybe a little taller.

The Judicator looks as though he's going to test his luck, that maybe he thinks the risk will be worth the reward. Something must make him rethink it though, because he just shakes his head and goes over to his few colleagues, whispering to them, and then James watches as they go bother Fenech, maybe about getting a press pass. 

James gives Nick a look, a little suspicious. 

"You know someone on the team who's a witch?" James asks. He tries to act nonchalant. Like, maybe, he isn't super curious, it's just an idle sense. Nick gives him a considering look and then shrugs his shoulders. 

"Nah, just don't like people getting in our fucking business. I just wanna play ball man, don't have time for all this bullshit." Nick says. He sounds sincere-- maybe. James isn't sure what to think. 

"Yeah, I wish the MLBPA would hurry up with that shit. I don't want to see something happen like the NFC Conference game, you know?" Jacoby appears out of nowhere, leaning against the wall, rolling a bat between his hands like he's nervous. 

James is curious. 

Do other people know? 

"Why, do you know someone?" 

"Not in the club, nah. But in the past." 

"Yeah, seems like it's a lot more common in the minor leagues." Nick says and he pops his gum and waves a hand, leaving James and Jacoby standing there, watching the door. 

"Why, do you?" Jacoby asks. James shakes his head. 

"No. I'm with Nick. Just ain't fond of everyone in the team's business." James hopes he's a better liar than he _feels_ like he is. Jacoby just nods slowly. 

"Yeah, we're not so far removed from the minor leagues that some of our friends who we know things about are gonna get the call up. It's only July now, but it's gonna be September soon." 

"Yeah…" James thinks about Hernan in Milwaukee. Thinks about how the people treat Braun, wonders how he'll get treated if his secret gets out. He tries not to look at José, who is deep into his pregame ritual, head bobbing to music piping from his headphones, lacing his cleats up from the very first hole with a brand new pair of laces. José lines them up every time, so both sides are the same length. 

James doesn't look too long, cutting his gaze away to Nick. To Alex Wilson. To everyone still hovering around. 

"Why'd you stop those guys coming in?" Blaine is almost in Nick's face, his jaw set in a tight little line. Nick shrugs at Blaine. 

"I don't think I have to keep repeating myself. I was clear enough the first time." 

Blaine's frown deepens, but if Nick's bothered by it, he doesn't show it. Just shrugs his shoulders again and goes back to texting. Blaine turns his attention to Jacoby and James, who are still stations by the door. Jacoby is tapping the head of the bat on the ground to the rhythm of the reggaeton playing from V-Mart's locker. He grips the barrel of it like he's going to swing. 

James looks between the two. 

"Just go sit down, Blaine." James says, planting his hand against his chest. He sees a spark in Jacoby's face like maybe he wants to fight, and he guides Blaine back to his own locker. 

"If there's someone that's a witch, they gotta go. It's practically cheating." Blaine says to James. He sees Boyd look up from his phone, the girlish laughter of his daughter emanating from the speakers.Matt's gaze shifts down almost immediately though, like he doesn't want to get caught. 

James suddenly feels on edge. 

(His job is to manage the pitchers, but there's some kind of glint in Matt's eyes too, his jaw going a little hard.) 

Blaine opens his mouth, but Matt cheerfully interrupts. 

"I always wondered if there were witchy pitchers you know. Mostly because 'pitch witch' sounds like a snazzy title. Also, some of those velo spikes… some of those breaking balls? It's like _damn_." 

Blaine's eyes narrow. 

"Pitch witch?" James repeats. Matt nods. 

He closes out of the video he was watching. 

"Doesn't it sound cool?" 

"It definitely sounds like something you think sounds cool." James's mouth twitches as he tries not to smile. Whatever animosity might be brewing is broken by the fact that Gardy comes to rally everyone up, and there's a game to focus on, so thoughts of witches are pushed aside as something more important comes into focus. 

James squats behind the dish-- and he notices that José is less off a show-off in the game. Still good, still solid-- but not light the world on fire good. 

James tries not to take note. 

*

The Judicators don't get a press pass. 

*

 **MLBPA, MLB Appoint New Independent Program Administrator**  
_ESPN News Services 2:48PM EST_  
The  MLBPA and the MLB in a move following a recent ruling by the MLB has appointed a new head to their joint committee on supernatural regulatory measures. 

The MLB has come down firmly on the fact that those with supernatural abilities who use them to enhance their game play are the same as players who use PEDs or other banned substances to enhance performance. 

Following similar regulations put in by the NFL, the WNHL, andMLS, the MLB and MLBPA have appointed Reverend Timothy Cleary, PhD to the head of the new committee. 

Details about the detection and penalties forthcoming. 

_Update 10:31PM EST_  
Rev. Timothy Cleary announced in his press conference that the Association of Judicators would be called on to assist with stamping out the abundance of supernatural players in the league. 

*

José's shirt rides up a little and there's only skin where his tattoo once was. 

*

They get James on his way into Comerica. 

One late July day, he's waylaid in the parking lot. He's sure it's illegal, but he's compliant. Quiet. As his elbows are grabbed and he's dragged into a rented building near the parking structure. There's a corkboard with player pictures on it, scrawls of notes everywhere, and pins in places with more notes. 

Like an attempt to find the piece that doesn't fit, and his stomach churns a little. Big red X's mark out the faces of those who have been cleared, so far. Blaine and VerHagen are the only ones that seem out of the woods. There's so many question marks, and James tries to rationalize who Nick might be protecting, who Jacoby might be protecting. 

The uneasiness is like a bitter taste in the back of his throat he can't quite swallow around. He can't make the acrid taste leave his tongue as the head Judicator, the sneering, self important one sits across from him with his hands folded in front of him, like they're going to pray. 

(His mind spells it with an E-- it's more fitting that way.) 

"I'm just going to ask you a series of simple questions, James. A few control questions." He moves his hand and slides his fingers around James's wrist. It's a simple gesture, but his fingers are so cold, or they feel like they're burning, and something about the whole situation makes James feel violated. 

James clamps down on his mind like it's the most precious thing ever. 

(It hurts to resist, he can feel the prying like pin pricks in his brain.) 

"Is your name James Thomas McCann?" 

"Yes." 

"Were you born in California?" 

"Yes." 

"Have you had your birthday this year?" 

"Yes." 

"Are you married?" 

"No." 

"Do you have any children?" 

James hesitates. 

"Yes." 

The judicator frowns at him and writes something down, giving James a burningly curious look. James tries hard not to think of Christian and Kane. He banishes the thought from his mind, with a firm _later_. 

"Do you know of any witches on your team?" 

Hesitation, again. 

"No." 

The writing continues. James feels like he's going to bite through his tongue. 

"Have you ever witnessed magical enhancement while watching a baseball game, either your team, your farm teams, or on a television broadcast?" 

James thinks of magic sparking in a brilliant red, in a sizzling blue. James thinks about the barely glowing aura of dark midnight blue and soft warm orange. Night and day-- the colors of his team. 

"No." 

The Judicator's fingers slip away from his wrist. 

"You look like you have the Judicator's look in your eyes." He gestures to James's face and James shakes his head. 

"It was a long time ago, my family didn't really foster it. It's sort of like an appendix for me. Just kind of there, but not useful." James tries a laugh that rings hollow, like he feels right now. 

"We could teach you. It might be helpful, to have someone on the inside." 

The thought makes James's guts feel like they've been put on ice. 

"No thanks." James goes to stand. "We good?" 

"If you're protecting someone, I _will_ find out." 

James doesn't react, but they don't stop him leaving. 

_hey jess… be careful out there. might wanna head back to tennessee with your brother._

James sends the text, feeling like he's going to throw up. 

**jimmy? is everything okay???**

_it's fine. take care of yourself and the boys_

*

**jimmy… some strange man came to the house. he seemed real interested in c &k. told him we couldn't stay. he was insistent.**

_are the boys alright?_

**yeah. i figured farther away the better. at mike's place in sb. boys are safe.**

_and you?_

**shaken up but okay. i went and saw your mom. remembered you telling me your family history. apparently ya got a knack for this kinda stuff. your great grandpa had a book… we got the charms need making, just gotta find someone to make 'em.**

James sends Jess details. 

_i know it's been a minute hernan, but if you don't mind doing a favor… sent my ex your info._

**_idk y u always getting me in trouble j._ **

**_but i guess i owe u 1._**

*

In Kansas City, they get in late and James decides where he's going to lay his loyalties. With Jess's confirmation the boys are safe.

He looks at the piece of paper the Judicator in Detroit had given him, with the tight cramped writing of who to call if he saw anything suspicious.

He raps on the door. 

José answers it, looking all the world like he's doing his level best to be relaxed. But there's a tension around his dark eyes that James is sure wasn't there before. His eyes glitter like obsidian. He steps aside to let James in though, shutting the door behind him. 

José doesn't relax. James can see the tension in his shoulders like leading off in the bottom of extra innings, when the other team already put up a run. Like a heavy, invisible weight. James's fingers itch with the desire to smooth his hands over his shoulders, and try and wipe the tension away. 

"I know." James says. It's not the best opening line, but he feels -- it says what it needs to say. "I didn't tell anyone. And I'm… I'm going to protect you." 

José turns to him. James can see the hazy red aura like he's on fire, just a pulse of red energy, ebbing and flowing in and out. 

"What?" José's incredulous. " _Why?_ " 

James doesn't know how to answer the question. 

"It's gonna be okay, Iggy. I promise." 

James doesn't know how else to leave it. José looks suspicious, then he sags with relief, he sinks down onto the edge of the bed and rubs his hands over his eyes. 

"I think… people know. But I don't know how. And -- and what if someone tells." 

James thinks about that room. 

"I've got your back. More than just me too." James promises. He sits down next to José and wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

He feels a yearning inside of him, burning like a fire low in his gut. José rests his head against James's shoulder. 

James doesn't know how long they stay like that.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [dusk is coming all too soon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086193) by [blastellanos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/pseuds/blastellanos)




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